


The Flames of Faith

by Obsidian_Wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Other, Sad Castiel, Sad Michael, Supernatural AU - Freeform, War AU, with gabriel and balthazar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5004484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsidian_Wings/pseuds/Obsidian_Wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three brothers raised deep within the heart of the Christian religion, a priest as a father; ever present, always absent.<br/>Michael was the first born son, loyal to both father and faith.<br/>Gabriel was the middle child with mischief forever in his eyes.<br/>Castiel was the youngest, too young to understand the difference between faith and obedience.</p>
<p>Three brothers went to war together each with a bible in their hand, only two returned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flames of Faith

“God? Are you there? Because the silence is killing me.”  
His little brothers words were burned into Michaels head, as permanent as his war scars, a constant reminder of everything he wanted to forget. The scar where a Gerber mark II dagger was held against his neck, the scars on his legs from a fragmentation grenade that went off 300 meters from him; any closer and he would be as dead as his friends.  
He could still remember the weight of an assault rifle in his hands like that was a scar of its very own. He remembered the feel of the blood; sickeningly warm. The red stained his fingers long after he cleaned them. It had been over a year since Michaels fingertips had been stained in scarlet and yet he still remembered the warm crimson; he wished he could forget.  
*  
Three brothers raised deep within the heart of the Christian religion, a priest as a father; ever present, always absent. Michael was the first born son, loyal to both father and faith. Gabriel was the middle child with mischief forever in his eyes. Castiel was the youngest, too young to understand the difference between faith and obedience.  
Three brothers went to war together each with a bible in their hand, only two returned.  
*  
The sun was dying in the sky, slowly falling in a ball of flame leaving the world dark.  
Gabriel was dying on the ground, slowly fading in a lake of blood leaving the world even darker.  
Castiel was holding his brother as Michael stood by powerless and as the light faded from Gabriel’s eyes the faith faded from Castiel’s heart.  
*  
The beach was traditionally a place of fun and serenity with the calming blue sea and sky working in harmony with golden sand to create a simple paradise. Michael remembered going to the beach as a child, warning his brothers “don’t stay to far from me!” the feeling of freedom had been intoxicating. The wind creating a gentle background of noise in their young ears. Michael remembered Gabriel picking up a shell carefully, delicately and holding it to his heart. It was almost peaceful. It was almost perfect. Almost. A sea of crystal, a sky of velvet, a ground of melted gold and a border of jagged, towering cliffs. They were enclosed and sheltered from the world; they were unrestrained. The three brothers relished the burning light.  
*  
Gabriel had a son; Balthazar, he was young, too young to lose his father. It was Michael’s fault, it always was and even when it wasn’t Michael blamed himself. Balthazar looked like his father but his eyes were empty, he looked gaunt, almost hollow. A ghost with a beating heart. Balthazar lived with Michael now seeing as Castiel had escaped to god only knows where after the war.  
The war. The boko harem insurgency the civilians called it. Hell the soldiers called it. It was fought in both the dark sweltering rainforest and the cold unforgiving mountains. Yet the war was boring, endless days and idle minds. Weeks & months all blurred together until you couldn’t tell them apart anymore.  
War was dull.  
War was anticipation.  
Waiting.  
Still.  
Nothing.  
Everything.  
A blur of gunfire, bombs, anti-tank mines and blood. And the noise, oh god the noise, the screams of hell would have made a more pleasant sound. It was an insidious soundtrack replayed on a timeless loop in Michael’s nightmares, he’d run out of good dreams a long time ago.  
*  
Balthazar had found it quickly, stolen it without a second thought. He slept with it clutched to his heart like a lifeline; his father’s bible. It was torn and dirty. You couldn’t see the words for the blood had consumed them entirely.  
*  
The blood and burning light was slowly consuming Gabriel as Castiel, so innocent and loyal, held him. “Gabriel is the sun.” they had joked as children but now the sun was dying. Michael thought it poetic in the most devastating way.  
Midnight 22nd October 2010. The precise moment in time Michael was forced to realise he had lost everything that mattered most. For Castiel sat beside his fallen brother until the full moon bathed them in silver light and Castiel stood defiantly and cast his own bible on to Gabriel’s corpse.  
He burned them both.  
However the now burning bible it was so much more than paper and ink, it was every memory in Castiel’s head and it was his brother, his father. It was Castiel’s faith and it was ablaze.  
“God? Are you there? Because the silence is killing me.”  
“Castiel, I am here, the silence is broken.”  
*  
Michael had decided to write his story, the flames of faith he had called it. He wrote it down only to relinquish the hellish thoughts from his mind but he was struggling, not for eloquent words but for an ending. Stories were supposed to end with a beautiful resolution with everything tied together in a neat, happy little bow, problem was that his ending was not as poetic as Michael wished, no ending ever was. All that blood was never once beautiful, it was just red.  
So Michael went to the church, his church; it was empty. Michael walked in solemn silence to the alter, his ghosts walk with him. Michael stood alone, drowning in the darkness of his own memory and he whispered,  
“God? Are you there? How could you leave us?”  
“Michael, I am here, I never left your side.”  
Michael wrote his ending, his truth, tragic and blood covered because no matter how much Michael prayed, his story just didn’t have a happy ending.


End file.
